


Make Sail for the Dawn

by brinnanza



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Cock Warming, Hair-pulling, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, d/s dynamics, it's all consensual but they do not discuss it before hand, maybe I wanna pull silver's hair what of it, more hair pulling than originally intended actually, oops it's tender, silver being a lil shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: “If you cannot keep your mouth shut,” Flint says through clenched teeth, “I am going to find another use for it."“Is that so?” Silver says. His voice is low, roughened like after a swallow of strong whisky. “And what use would that be exactly?"
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	Make Sail for the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> me: I'm probably not going to write black sails fic  
> they were soon to change their mind, however
> 
> anyway here's like 2k of silverflint cockwarming I GUESS the title is from bones in the ocean; idk if it's original to the longest johns or not but that's the version I know. it's high key a flint song tho
> 
> this takes place somewhere in season two, just after flint has regained his captaincy when they're on the way back to nassau from the beach

Silver is, against all odds and good sense, _still talking._

He’s delivering yet another update on the state of the crew, various gossip and goings on that meant to avoid during judicious meal timing and a not at all feigned disinterest. Unfortunately, Silver has instead elected to bring the news, such as it is, directly to Flint’s cabin, still under the mistaken impression that his import to the crew means import to its captain.

Flint had stopped listening some time ago, choosing to pore over the maps spread out on his desk in order to plan how he might best retake the beach and its gold on return. He has several potential avenues, all of which require studious consideration, which in turn requires peace and quiet.

“...of course, he won’t hold his seditious little meetings where I can overhear them,” Silver is saying, “but word still gets around. Even now, they _still_ discount Randall when spilling their secrets and--”

“Jesus Christ, Silver,” Flint snaps, abruptly at the end of his patience for Silver’s blathering. “Do you _ever_ shut up?”

Silver gives him a rueful little smile. “Not even when I’m asleep, I’m afraid. The men already have to contend with Muldoon’s snoring though, so --”

A headache is brewing white-hot and sharp somewhere behind Flint’s eyes. He slaps his hand down hard onto the desk and is rewarded when Silver starts at the sound. “If you cannot keep your mouth shut,” Flint says through clenched teeth, “I am going to find another use for it.”

A blissful silence falls over the room, and Flint breaths a sigh of relief, intending to get back to it. He glances up to find Silver has not taken the clear dismissal but rather is studying him, a curious look on his face. “Is that so?” Silver says. His voice is low, roughened like after a swallow of strong whisky. “And what use would that be exactly?”

Fuck, Flint hadn’t meant - but then perhaps, maybe he had. He can’t deny Silver is attractive, all golden skin and dark curls. He’s a shit of course, and a pain in the arse besides, but it would be a lie to claim he’d never had an idle though about what Silver might look like on his knees. Judging by the way Silver carefully licks his lips, shifts his stance just lightly to tilt his hips, he is thinking similarly. 

Still, Flint must tread carefully here. Sodomy is not so perverse among pirates as it is in London, is fairly commonplace among men on the account, but Silver is only several weeks removed from a legitimate merchant ship. If he should react poorly to a more explicit wording, it could cause no end of trouble for Flint. “I suspect you’ve some idea,” Flint demurs, leaves it to Silver to decide.

“Perhaps,” Silver allows. His pupils are blown black, just a thin ring of blue around them. He stands at a lazy caricature of attention, but his eyes are on Flint’s mouth.

Flint doesn’t answer, just slides his chair back a fraction and widens his knees. The movement is mostly concealed behind the large, ornate desk, but he watches Silver’s eyes track the movement. Silver’s throat bobs as he swallows, and holds his breath, half prepared for it still to come to blows.

Silver takes a step forward, then hesitates. “Just so we’re clear here… we’re talking about me sucking your cock, right?” Flint just arches an eyebrow at him. “I only ask because I’ve rather gotten my fill of being punched in the face from the crew, and, well, men sometimes react rather poorly to the insinuation that they might be--”

“Silver,” Flint interrupts. He watches Silver’s face, the nervous twitch in his eyebrows, the fading bruise along his jaw. He gives a nearly imperceptible nod, still clinging to a vestige of plausible deniability, and Silver’s whole face goes smooth with relief. He drops to his knees like a marionette with its strings cut and crawls around the desk to worm his way between Flint’s knees. 

Flint had thought perhaps Silver might resist performatively, draw out the game until Flint lost his patience and either spoke plainly or dismissed him outright, but Silver continues to surprise. He falls upon Flint’s trousers immediately, unlacing them with eager hands. Flint lifts his hips just enough for Silver to draw his trousers down, and before Flint can acknowledge, never mind process, Silver’s hungry gaze on his bare, soft cock, Silver has sucked him down.

It is immediately clear to Flint that for all Silver’s ardor, the man has never actually had a cock in his mouth before. He’s sloppy and overeager; anticipation and the wet heat of his mouth has Flint hardening immediately, but the sensation is disjointed, a flurry of too much and too little. Silver doesn’t bother with his hands at all, just laps at Flint inelegantly. As soon as Flint is hard enough for it, Silver dives down too far and much too fast, gagging himself. He pulls off to cough and then immediately returns to it.

Flint grabs a handful of his dark curls and yanks, hard enough to pull Silver’s mouth off of his cock. It’s tempting to let Silver choke himself, to rut into the tight channel of his throat until he spends, but he has a feeling Silver is chatty after sex, and rushing toward orgasm would defeat the purpose of otherwise occupying Silver’s mouth.

“Stop,” Flint instructs. Silver whines and pulls against the grip on his hair, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “If I simply wanted to come,” Flint continues, “my hand would more than suffice.”

“Then what--” Silver starts, and Flint cuts him off by sliding his cock back between Silver’s lips. Silver suckles at him, and Flint gives another sharp tug to his hair. 

“Settle,” Flint says. “Don’t move. Just sit there with your mouth full.” Silver’s eyebrows crawl into his hairline, but he obeys, settling down onto his knees. His lips twitch with inaction, but his tongue is still beneath the weight of Flint’s cock. “Just like that,” Flint says. He lays his palm against Silver’s cheek, applies just enough pressure to encourage Silver to rest his head against Flint’s thigh. “Good boy, just like that.”

Silver’s face goes immediately pink and he shifts restlessly on the floor, eyes fluttering closed. Flint grants him a slow, pleased smile now that he cannot see it, and brushes the mop of Silver’s hair over his shoulder. This is likely a mistake that Flint will not deign to repeat, but he files the knowledge away regardless.

His arousal fades to the background of his attention, and Flint loses himself to planning. He scribbles down potential routes, plans of attack, how best to position the warship on return so as to take the beach with minimal casualties. The cabin is silent save for the scratching of his quill, the rolling sea beyond the windows, the faint hum of Silver’s breaths. He can never entirely forget the warmth of Silver’s mouth, and Silver shifts slightly every so often, to resettle or to swallow, but it’s just another sensation relegated to unimportance against his thoughts.

He loses track of the time. It could equally be minutes or hours later when he finally leans away from the desk, at an impasse until he has a chance to discuss it with whomever sails in consort for the return trip.

The hum of arousal becomes more pronounced now that it’s not fighting for his attention, and Flint looks down at Silver’s head in his lap. Silver’s breathing evenly, forehead smooth and relaxed; he could almost be asleep if not for the blissed out expression on his face. Flint hums, indulging himself in a rare moment of tenderness, and cards his finger through Silver’s hair. Silver’s eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t move, apparently content to remain for as long as Flint will have him.

“Look at you,” Flint murmurs, and there is a warm lick of fondness in his voice that he refuses to consider or acknowledge. “You like this, don’t you? You’ve been such a shit, and all it takes to bleed it out of you is for someone to put you on your knees.” He should stop talking, close his mouth and finally take his pleasure from Silver’s, but the words keep spilling out of him, too honest and far too tender for what this is. “Perhaps I’ll keep you here, just like this. Let you warm my cock beneath my desk for hours and hours. Let a competent cook take your place in the galley so you can finally be of some use for once.”

Silver draws in a shaky breath, and his eyes blink open, meeting Flint’s. His desire is writ plain there, the way Flint fears it is in his own gaze, but Flint can’t look away. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Flint marvels, and Silver moans around his cock, full and throaty. There is movement at the floor against Flint’s shins, likely Silver getting a hand on himself. “You’re getting off on the very idea.” Flint is hardly unaffected himself; his breathing has quickened and his cock, which had softened while he worked, is hard against Silver’s tongue. 

Flint fists a handful of Silver’s curls and rocks his hips up into Silver’s mouth. Silver swallows around him, lapping at him and sucking hard, and Flint stifles a moan. “This is really what you’re good for, isn’t it?” Flint says, and he’s panting now. Silver’s mouth is hot and tight around him, a rush like the ocean in his ears. “ _Fuck_ , yes, just like this, on your knees like a whore. Knew you could be good for me. Mouthy little shit, just needed a cock to suck, didn’t you? So good--” Flint’s litany is cut short by a surge of heat like the Caribbean summer; it crests, white-capped like the sea and he comes, hand tight in Silver’s hair.

His hips twitch as he comes down from it, and when the wet suction of Silver’s mouth becomes too much, he pulls Silver from his lap by the hair. “Come here,” he says lowly with another tug, intending to sit Silver on the edge of his desk to pull him off or perhaps just to kiss him. The awareness that he wants to, that he wants to taste himself on Silver’s tongue, drifts gently through Flint’s thoughts, unhindered in the lingering waves of pleasure.

Silver resists against the pull for a moment, fidgeting on the floor, but then he gets to his feat and leans heavily against the desk at his back. His gaze is no longer clouded with lust, and the laces of his trousers are sloppy, hastily tightened but not yet tied. He gives Flint a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I already - well. Did you want me to…” He makes a vague gesture that Flint interprets roughly as “clean up the mess of spend on the floor.”

Flint waves him off, tucking himself away. “It’s seen worse, I’m sure,” he says. “Silver--”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Silver interrupts, putting up a placating hand. “I’ll keep this out of the daily report; no need to threaten me into silence.”

“You’d better,” Flint says menacingly, thought that wasn’t what he’d been going to say. He isn’t entirely sure what it was he _had_ been trying to say. Somewhere between looming over Silver in the Wrecks and taking a Spanish warship with him, something had changed in Flint. Some small impulse to relax in Silver’s presence, to speak plainly. It’s dangerous, Flint knows. Silver will still betray him when it suits him. He’d said as much before.

Flint is still struggling for something to say when Silver pushes himself up off the desk and gives Flint a lazy, feline grin. “I’d say that covers everything you missed at the last few briefings,” he says, and there is something shuttered in his eyes now that had been so open and vulnerable while on his knees. “If I don’t see you in the mess tomorrow, shall I take it you once again require a personal report?”

It had just been words before, an idle fantasy designed to work Silver up, but the prospect of more, of again, lingers in the spaces of Silver’s glib query. An out and an invitation, all in one. And it’s tempting, as things with Silver so often are, which makes it all the more dangerous. Silver cannot be trusted with this part of Flint, with this soft, tender thing he keeps locked up in the distant recesses of his mind. That Silver has already coaxed that prison open a crack sure bodes ill for Flint; it can hardly end another way.

Still, there is a pleasant lassitude in Flint’s bones, a warm hum of lingering pleasure that he is loathe to give up, however little he may deserve it. Though not inclined to jealousy, Flint is, at heart, a selfish man, wanting desperately all things he is not permitted. He _wants_ Silver, even now, no longer spurred on by the rush of arousal and need, wants him in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone since --

He pushes that memory away. “We’ll see,” he tells Silver. He allows the smallest twitch of a smile onto his lips and then looks pointedly back down to the maps spread across his desk. It’s another clear dismissal, but Silver takes this one; Flint hears the cabin door swing open and then closed again, leaving him alone once more.

They’ll see indeed.


End file.
